


Never Sleeping Again

by Katlyn1948



Series: Never Sleeping Again [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Daenerys is alive, F/M, Other, Wet Dream, arya got feels, arya is in love and doesn’t want to admit it, heated dream, non Canon, she ain’t no mad queen, she is only mentioned - Freeform, sister bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katlyn1948/pseuds/Katlyn1948
Summary: Arya learns of Gendry’s envoy and has a rather vivid dream about his return.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: Never Sleeping Again [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695427
Comments: 15
Kudos: 121





	Never Sleeping Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obsessivewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivewriter/gifts).



> I must thank @obsessivewriter for giving me the idea to write this one shot, as well as the art work it is inspired by. @the-lady-rae art work on tumblr inspired this fic. I had fun writing it and I needed a breather from the Gendrya BigBang fic and Evading Capture as well as another untitled Gendry fic I’ve been working on. I’ve been a busy bee, but this gave me a breather, so thank you! I hope you enjoy!

The feel of the blade within her hand felt hot, like a searing blaze scalding her fingers. Her feet dragged through the muddied ground of the training yard and her knees were screaming in pain. For the last four hours, Arya sparred with anyone brave enough to take on the ‘Night King Slayer.’

She had made a bit of a reputation for herself; first she slayed the Night King, ending the Long Night. Then she slayed the Mad Queen Cersei, slicing her throat from ear to ear, ending her reign of terror on the innocent people of Westeros. Those two tasks were no easy feat, but yet she managed to come out alive from both.

Now as the seven kingdoms of Westeros began it’s time of peace, Arya found herself having difficultly convincing the knights and guards around her to have simple sparring session. She nearly had to bribe each man that stepped foot into the training guards, but even then she found that they were not giving it their full effort.

She was lucky that current man she was sparring had not taken it easy on her, giving her the challenge she so desperately craved.

His attacks were good, but his blocks were better, making it harder for Arya to pin him to the ground. With her weakening state, she was sure that sooner or later he would find a weakness within her facade and strike at the opportune moment. She had to remind herself to focus on her opponent at hand; to not get distracted my the masses gathering around them. It was common for her draw a crowd. Most were fascinated by her fluid movements and the way she held herself when sparring. The Braavossi style of sword fighting had perplexed most that had entered the sparring unit with her, giving her the unyielding advantage to disarm her opponent. But this man was good. He had quickly learned her style of fighting; adjusting his movements to block her attacks.

It was beginning to frustrate Arya that a man; or rather a boy a few short years younger than she, could best her years of training.

When she went for an attack, the boy quickly blocked, sidestepping to avoid her advances. The maneuver caused Arya to stumble on her tired feet, giving the boy an opening to disarm her with little effort. Their near two hour sparring had come to an end, and Arya, although frustrated from her loss, yielded.

“Bested by a boy.” She huffed as she sheathed her needle into its holster. She took a few long strides to the boy and held her hand out for him to grasp with respect.

“It took time, but I was able to get you in the end.” He gave her a toothy grin as he gripped her wrist in return.

The crowd had begun to disperse, shocked at Arya’s loss. Most were expecting her to win with ease and were visible surprise when she was bested by a boy no more than ten and five.

“Aye, that you were. Where did you learn?” She was curious at how a boy of his age could fight like a man with years of experience. She remembered how long it took Jon to learn his skills, and even now he was still not as skilled to beat her.

“My pa taught me. Was a knight during King Rheagal’s reign. Nearly died on the Trident, but was able to get away. Fled to Braavos afterwards. The few years he was there, he learned a bit a two about water dancing.” He shrugged.

Arya’s eyes light up with surprise, “Ahh, so you knew my style of fighting.”

The boy chuckled, “Just a bit. My pa mixed the two and taught me and my sisters before he passed.”

“So, you’re Braavossi then?” She inquired.

The boy shook his head, “No, mi’lady, my pa made his way back here and married my ma, then had my sisters and me.”

“Please, call me Arya. What’s your name?”

“Wylie, mi’lady...I mean Arya.”

“Well, Wylie, I think you’d make a fine knight on my sister’s queens guard. I would like to teach you a bit more water dancing if you’re up for it.” She smiled.

Wylie’s face broke out into a wide smile and he frantically nodded his head, “Yes, it would be an honor, truly.”

Arya watched as the boy hurried out of the sparring unit towards the armory, his grin never leaving his face. It was nice to see someone so willing to learn from her and it gave her a new sense of purpose as she adjusted to domestic life within the walls of Winterfell.

It was difficult at first, for she had all her plans to sail out west after the Battle of King’s Landing. But Sansa had a way of convincing Arya to stay. With the North’s new found independence, Arya knew that Sansa would need someone she relied on to train her new soldiers. It had been so long since she felt like she was needed anywhere, that she agreed to stay.

She couldn’t complain. Her younger brother Bran was safe and was beginning to be his old self. Her oldest brother would visit from time to time, flying in on the massive green dragon that she adored greatly and her relationship with her sister was strong now, more than ever. She was surrounded by family, yet she couldn’t help but feel so alone.

She would find her thoughts drift to a certain blacksmith lord and the way his lips had crashed to hers just a few short hours before the Long Night. It was a shared kiss that spoke so much more loudly then any words they could have exchanged. If it wasn’t for the blaring horn indicating the dead had arrived, she was sure their kiss would have turned into something much more intimate.

Yet, as the dead fell and the Night King shattered into millions of pieces, she couldn’t bring herself to go and find him. For weeks she had avoided his stares. She would make it a habit to direct herself away from the growing heats coming from the forge, or take her supper in her room during large gatherings.

Even when she thought she would face certain death before the Battle of King’s Landing, she just couldn’t bring herself to seek him out. Her feelings were so muddied that it was near impossible for her to get a clear heading. By the time she mustered what ever courage she could to tell him how she truly felt, he was leagues away in Storm’s End, running the Stormlands as it’s new liege lord.

Her sudden thoughts on Gendry had led her to wander between the halls of Winterfell, tracking mud and sweat through the freshly cleaned stone floors. She hadn’t realized her sister rounding the corner, when she heard her shrill voice echo through the hall.

“There you are!” Sansa quickly hauled her sister up the winding steps to her solar, closing the heavy oak door behind them. “I’ve been looking for you! I should have realized you were in the training grounds and judging my the mud you’ve been tracking, it was quite a sparring session.”

She crossed the solar to the large wardrobe situated on the other side of the large room, pulling out a large cloth. She handed it to Arya, which she gladly took and began to clean herself of the mud and grime that had covered ever inch of her small body.

“Well, you found me.” Arya crossed to a nearby basin of lukewarm water and splashed some onto her face, allowing the mud to drip down her cheeks.

“We have guests coming on the morrow. I just received the raven, two days late, I might add. Must of lost its way. I’ve nothing prepared but the rooms. I managed to get a few of the maids to lay down the feather bedding in the extra rooms, but in terms of food, well I must say we are ill prepared.” Sansa sighed as she took a seat at the table seated in the middle of her large solar. She swiftly pour a glass of wine, sipping it slowly as to allow the sweet concoction to coat her throat.

“Anything I can do to help?”

Sansa waved her hand dismissively, “No, I’ve already got hunters fetching game and deer. I sent Podrick to town along with Theon to fetch some ale and then Meera agreed to go to the merchants to see if she can get a few sacks of potatoes and vegetables.”

“It seems you’ve got everything covered.” Arya went to join her sister and poured herself a hefty glass of wine. Although she preferred the bitter taste of ale to that of the sweat taste of wine, it was alcohol nonetheless and she would gladly drink it. “Who is visiting the independent North? Is it our brother, the king consort along with the Queen of the six kingdoms? If it is, they are making quite the uproar, don’t you think?”

Sansa chuckled, “No, it’s not them. We would know if they arrived; their dragons are hard to miss.”

“Then who?”

“Lord Gendry Baratheon, along with Lord Davos Seaworth. Sir Brienne of Tarth will also be joining the envoy.”

Arya nearly chocked oh her wine, causing bits of red liquid to spurt out of her mouth.

“Are you alright!” Sansa jumped out of her chair and began to pat her sister on the back, trying to clear her airways.

“I’m fine!” She coughed.

Arya shifted in her seat and immediately stood from her spot, “Are you certain it’s them?”

Sansa looked at her sister quizzically, “I am quite certain. The handwriting was that of Lord Baratheon, on account of him still learning his letters. It is obvious who wrote the letter. I must, I do commend him on his effort. Is there a particular reason as to why you are so interested in our soon to be guests?”

“No,” Arya shook her head. “No reason at all. Now if you will please excuse me, I really must go bathe, I’m sure I smell like horse piss, and to be quite honest, I think there was horse piss in that sparring unit.”

“Very well,” Sansa said cautiously, still not completely swayed by her sister’s quick excuse to avoid her question. “Will you sup with me tonight?”

“I’m not all that peckish.” Arya stumbled over the discarded cloth she had used to wipe her muddied boots in her hurry to exit out of Sansa’s solar. She was rather good at hiding her emotions, but the sudden revelation of Gendry’s impending visit had her flustered. She knew that her sister would continue to pry if she did not make an escape. “But we can break our fast together. I’ll see you on the morrow.”

“Have a good bath!” She heard Sansa yell as she scurried down the winding staircase.

Her chambers were directly under Sansa’s and was the second largest chambers in the castle. It used to belong to Robb, and Arya had felt a bit uncomfortable moving her personal effects into the space. For a time, she felt as if she were prying into a very private moment in his life. It was left untouched after his and her mother’s demise, and the layer of dust that had covered every surface was a testament to that horrid day.

It took the maids all of a few hours to clean the chamber and rearrange the furniture to Arya’s liking. Robbs things were moved to a storage room on the south side of the castle, along with all of the other deceased Stark family member’s.

The chamber was completely different when she entered, and Arya was surprised at how much the space had been changed to fit who she was. It no longer carried the memories of the past, but rather glimpses of the future to come.

After a time, Arya was rather grateful for Sansa’s suggestion for taking over Robb’s old room, for it became her escape. There were plenty of times were she needed to be alone, away from all the constant politics and prying eyes. She would escape to her chambers and barricade for days at a time, until she felt as if her presence was needed. Sansa would often chastised her for holding up in her chambers and would barge in the middle of her slumber just to stir her up out of bed and into the real world. It was on those particular days that she regrets not taking Sansa’s face for her prized collection.

Now, Arya knew, that she would need her chamber more than ever.

It would surely be her means of escape from Gendry when he arrived, after she greeted the envoy. She might have to attend the feast in their honor, but after that, she was sure she would be free to escape from what is sure to be an awkward situation.

Once safely inside her chambers, Arya went straight for the tub of water sitting in the middle of her solar. The maids must have filled the tub soon after her sparring session. The water was sure to be cold, but she did not mind as she quickly disrobed and sunk her aching muscles beneath the water. The prickling tingles of the cold water touching her skin felt electrifying, instantly soothing her worn out muscles. She grabbed the tube of fresh smelling lavender oil and began to scrub the crusted mud from her skin, leaving it red as she did so. She dunked her head under the water, scratching at her scalp to release the mud that was left behind. Running her fingers through her hair, Arya caught on a few tangles, wincing as she worked them free.

Her hair had become significantly longer in the passing moons.

She had meant to cut it, but life around the castle had been busy and she never found the time to do it. She also quite enjoyed the feeling of long hair. It had been so long since she could braid it down her back, and when it did reach the length were she could do so, it brought back memories of her mother trying to sit her still for her daily brush.

Arya sighed at the memory.

Everything back then had been simple. There was no war, no death, nothing keeping her family apart. Sometimes she often wondered what life would have been like if her father had disagreed to the king’s hand. If he would still be alive. The dead were still bound to come, but at least she would have her family by her side. She also wondered about her mother. There were things that she wished she could tell her or ask her about. Instead, she had to learn about things a way a young women should never learn.

As the water ran black with mud and grime, Arya heaved herself from the tub, grabbing the nearby cloth and wrapping it around her damp body. She shuffled to her wardrobe and pulled out a night shift, sliding it over her small frame. She tried to ring out the excess water from her hair into the cloth, but the point was moot, for her hair was just far to thick and long for any cloth to soak up. She combed it as best as she could, tying her hair behind her head to keep from tangling in the night.

She turned to her featherbed and sighed as she slumped into the plush down. The day had worn her out and the news of their arriving guests had sent her body into a shock. Even as she tried to fall asleep, the thought that Gendry was to be here come the break of dawn had Arya heated. She knew she felt some way towards him, but the feeling only became intensified at the realization that his presence would be in close proximity to hers.

Her mind was awake, making it impossible for her sleep. She tossed and turned and watched as the moon rose high in the night sky. The castle had finally settled, and she was sure that most, if not all, were asleep. If only she could feel the effects of slumber.

A few more turns in her bed, and she was completely frustrated.

Her body ached and her mind hurt and all she wanted was to sleep the night away before she had to come face to face with the one person she was dreading seeing the most.

Arya sighed, contemplating on sneaking down to the kitchens for a cup of water and stale lemon cakes, but before she could make up her mind, two sturdy knocks echoed from her door. She was sure that most of the castle was sound asleep, but there could be a great possibility that Sansa was still awake, worried about tomorrow’s preparations.

She threw the covers from her heated body and shuffled towards the oak door, pulling it open with a huff.

Standing there in front of her was not her sister Sansa, but rather a large brooding shirtless Gendry. Arya was perplexed by his presence, for she was sure he was not supposed to arrive until the following morning.

“Gendry? What are you doing here?” She asked a little breathless.

He was holding a pitcher of what she assumed to be water, with loose fur shall running down his shoulders. His hair was disheveled and looked like it hadn’t been cut in quite sometime. He sported a slight beard and mustache, not too much as to cover his whole face. His eyes were shining that familiar ocean blue hue and Arya loved so much. But there was a hunger behind his blue eyes; a hunger that Arya was staring to feel within herself.

“M’lady.”

His voice was rough and deep, sending chills along Arya’s spine. She let out a shaky breath as she widened the door for him to enter with ease. She could feel his hand linger on her hip as he began to push her back towards the bed. The pitcher he was once holding had now made it’s way on the bed side table, leaving Arya perplexed at how quickly Gendry seemed to rid himself of it. The shall he was wearing had dropped to the floor as he brought Arya to lay down on her soft feather bed.

His hands were roaming every inch of her body, leaving paths of searing heat on every surface he touched.

Arya so badly wanted to touch him, but it was if her body was keeping her in place, unmoving from her vulnerable position. She watched as Gendry lingered over her small frame, feeling as he shifted his hand to pull at the laces of her fitted bodice. She felt the fabric loosen around her chest, allowing her breast to escape their prison. His hand drifted up her torso, cupping her breast with slight pressure, enticing a moan from Arya’s lips.

Soon his hand shifted and she could hear the rustle of the fabric of his trousers as he began to unlace them.

Arya knew where this was going and she wanted it badly. She wanted him to be with her completely, for him to be the one to take her maidenhead. She wanted to be his, and him hers. Her breath caught as he pulled his hand to lift her hem of her night dress. Slowly, he leaned down and whispered, “You are my lady.”

They were so close and she could almost taste his sea salt lips on hers.

He leaned further down and their lips were just inches apart before Arya’s fantasy came crashing back down to reality.

Her chambers were filled with the harsh daylight, “Arya!! Honestly, how long do you plan on hiding in here?”

Arya groaned as she lifted her head to see her sister dressed in her best garment throwing the curtains of room wide open.

“You overslept. I was waiting for you for nearly an hour to break our fast! Come to find out that you are still drooling on your pillow.” She chastised “Come now, hurry up. Lord Baratheon’s envoy will be here shortly.”

Sansa rummaged through Arya’s wardrobe, throwing a her best jerkin and trousers in her direction, “Why are you so flushed?”

Arya’s cheeks burned brighter at her sister’s indication, “Let’s just say that I am never sleeping again.”


End file.
